


Friend or Foe

by girlgold8



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlgold8/pseuds/girlgold8
Summary: Nightly fights were common between Templars of Ferelden's Circle. Something no one was prepared for, least of all, Cullen, takes place as both Templars and mages stand witness. What will become of Cullen now? Cullen/Hawke Anders/Hawke





	1. Was that Magic?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the original Dragon Age storylines, nor have I created the setting in which this story takes place. I’m only borrowing the characters whose roles have been adjusted to suit my needs. I’m making no profit on this, nor do I plan to.

“Ack!” Cullen cried out as he was knocked backwards onto the stone platform erected in the tower’s basement. It was here the Templars of the tower did their training, sparring, and general rough housing. Tonight was no different after their charges had gone to bed. Of course, there were two Templars who always missed out on part of the fun, seeing as they guarded the sleeping mages and prevented them from ever stepping foot outside Ferelden’s Circle of Magi. Even though they were relieved of their duty after a few hours, whoever got stuck with first watch always felt as if they were missing a big event for the drinking always took place right after the mages were forced to their beds. Although even they wished they could join in on the nightly scuffles, placing bets on their favorites and betting against those who tormented them. Thus, bets were taken right as sunset approached.

~~~~Cullen, a mere teenaged recruit, was always bet against even though he had always been perceived as strong and clever. He was not fond of mages and was hardly afraid to let them know it. Since he’d taken his first draught of lyrium less than a year ago, he’d felt stronger than any man or mage. Still, though, he was scrawnier than many fully grown Templars.

Lyrium, widely regarded as magic in its pure form, was the Templar Order’s greatest weapon against mages. Once a Templar consumes it, he becomes able to counteract spells cast by mages. Fires become quenched, lightning shrivels, connections to the Fade- taken away. While many recruits often require three bottles of lyrium a day to keep up their talents- as well as keep away haunting memories- Cullen required only one. He took it at night, before these fights, as a way to become strongest.

_Semi-Flashback_

_It was the Templars in the Chantry at his hometown village of Honnleath who’d first taught him the thrilling art of swordplay. As a child, he’d dreamt of adventuring Thedas, protecting the land against the scourge of magic, and maybe rescuing a damsel or two. It was in Honnleath where he’d met Ser Thrask, who at the time was hunting apostates, rogue mages. Ser Thrask inspired Cullen to become like him and the Templars he idolized in the Chantry. Thrask had brought Cullen along to Kinloch Hold, Ferelden’s Circle of Magi, and expanded upon Cullen’s training. After five years of dutiful training, Cullen’s dream was realized. He underwent the Vigil and received his first taste of lyrium. Although it was his first, it tasted familiar to him and felt like an old friend greeting him home, and warmed him as though a fire were kindled in his veins. (A/N: Can anyone see where this is headed yet?)_

_From then on, Thrask- who had become Knight Captain during Cullen’s training- taught Cullen special skills unique to Templars. Spell Purge, which had the power to dispel hostile magic. Blessed Blades, which increased his damage output for a short period of time. These two talents were Cullen’s favorites. Spell Purge because of the befuddled look on mages’ faces when their spells fizzle. Blessed Blades because of the incredible burst of strength emanating from his gut._

_He’d yet to master the strongest technique he’d witnessed as a child, the Wrath of Heaven. To him, it appeared as if the Maker Himself was reaching down and banishing demons in His Chosen’s hour of need. While Cullen could not yet summon the Maker’s hand, he’d been working on something else he was eager to try. Cullen did not know this Templar talent’s proper name, but he called it “Force Push.”_

_He’d first done it after his Vigil and drinking his first vial of lyrium. He was wandering the forest near his village, thinking of how to say goodbye to his siblings before leaving with Thrask to go to Kinloch Hold on Lake Calanhad. He had just made it to the outskirts of the village of Crestwood, near the docks, when he heard howling. The pack roaming near the village was rabid after feeding on the Blight-stricken corpses that had piled up in mass graves. As the wolves snaked out of the brush, intending to surround the 18 year old recruit, Cullen glimpsed glowing eyes and missing clumps of fur. Apparently, the wolves had encountered darkspawn as well as consuming the Taint._

_Seeing the wolves inch closer, and being without a weapon, Cullen looked around and saw a rounded ledge about a meter away and below it- he was sure- was the lake. Not giving it a second thought, he began sprinting for the ledge. The wolves, as he had guessed it, were fast and organized, but not thinking or looking beyond their next meal. As Cullen and the wolves neared the ledge, the wolves began racing in front of him and blocked his path. Of course, however, this is what the young Templar intended. The wolves had, indeed, blocked his path but had also unknowingly placed themselves at the edge overlooking the lake. With a strangled and mildly terrified cry, Cullen performed his “Force Push” talent for the first time.His mind, he thought, had surely been strengthened by the Maker to create a physical force pushing the wolves over the cliff._

_When he’d returned home, he found Thrask settling down for dinner with Cullen’s family. Cullen, eager to report what he’d just accomplished, immediately shared his experience with his family and the respected Knight. Thrask had been incredibly proud of him, but admitted he’d never heard of a move like Force Push. He had reasoned it to be the aftereffects of the lyrium Cullen had taken earlier that day. Later, Cullen felt this to be true because he hadn’t been able to summon another Force Push since._

End the Sort-of Flashback (Sorry the flashback’s not so clear)

Lately, however, he’d been trying to do his unique skill again. He thought it to be the best possible way to knock his rival, Ser Samson, straight on his arse. So in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morn, he’d taken to surrounding himself with furniture from the basement and attempting to knock it back with just the force of his mind. Last night, he finally succeeded. He had managed to send the tables and armchairs flying. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to him that in succeeding, he’d also made a mess. In the end, he had brushed it off and decided to blame it on the mages come morn. They hadn’t been happy about that, and tonight, had unnecessarily bribed Samson to give him an extra hard thrashing during their duel. While the mages were unable to witness it, they would be happy enough to see Cullen’s pretty face bruised and bloody when they awoke.

So, here he was, on his arse trying to recover from a particularly hard Shield Bash. He was seeing stars as he struggled to his feet. Cullen was sure he had a black eye and he could taste the blood escaping from a gash on his lip. Samson charged him again, but Cullen put up a Shield Wall, blocking his rival’s blade. Samson, feeling frustrated and angry, let out a war cry and erupted in a charging bull and knocked the unsuspecting Cullen on his arse once more.

Samson let out a victory laugh at seeing his rival on the floor, “Haha! What’sa matter, Cullen? Mummy Thrask not training you lately?” After the taunt left Ser Samson’s lips, Thrask and his good friend, First Enchanter Irving, walked into the chamber to see what the racket was.

Irving, Thrask at his side, sidled up to Knight Commander Greagoir and said, “Greagoir, can you please tell your recruits to keep it down? The apprentices are just a floor above and are trying to sleep.”

Greagoir, however, was a big supporter of these nightly sparring matches, firmly believing them to be toughening up and hardening the weak. Throwing his protégé, Samson, a delighted yell when he heard Cullen’s ribs crack, briefly glanced at Irving, saying, “Oh, lighten up, Irving. These boys are just getting started. Tell the apprentices to ignore it.”

Greagoir ignored Irving’s mumbled, “That’s quite impossible,” in favor of cheering for Samson again. Thrask had yet to say anything, grimacing when he saw Cullen clutch his side from his placed on the floor. This was the boy he’d taken under his wing when he was just 13. Granted, the boy had grown considerably; he was still just 18. The Samson boy had a good 8 years on him and was far more well-built and muscular than Cullen. And if this battle progressed, Thrask was worried Samson would become desperate and use the Wrath of Heaven on the young blond.

And sure enough, Thrask’s worries were well founded. Just as Cullen was fighting to pull himself up with his sword, Samson held up his own and started gathering light. The audience’s cheers were deafening now. Thrask knew he had to stop this fight before it went too far. As Thrask pushed his way forward, disgruntled mages began pouring into the already full chamber, grumbling about sleep. It seemed the Templars guarding them had abandoned their post.

Cullen, holding himself up by his sword, recognized the skill Samson was performing. It had been years since he’d seen Thrask perform it, yet he remembered the magnificent light that the Maker had given His faithful Templars to use. But, at this, Cullen smirked, knowing he had his own Maker-given power. He’d noticed the mages gathering in the entrance to the hall and decided this was his moment. He’d show those blasphemous mages what the Maker’s Chosen could do. So, with a resounding yell that shook the rafters, Cullen sent out a blast of force, throwing back Samson and Thrask, who’d just reached the edge of the sparring stage. Samson was completely unprepared for this type of attack and was thrown off the platform, toppling several other Templars as he fell.

The entire room had gone silent. The mages gathered instantly recognized the power that had sent a wave of lingering magic over the crowd. Several Templars, even, having witnessed this power before, began stepping away from their friend and fellow Templar, Cullen. Thrask’s face went ashen as he regained his footing from the powerful blast. And Cullen, still panting from the force he exerted, began looking around the room with a smile. A smile that gradually faded as he saw his horror-stricken comrades, the ashen-faced Thrask, and the smug mages. First Enchanter Irving seemed to be gloating, too, but Cullen couldn’t imagine why. While Cullen was always respectful towards the old man, he knew Irving was aware that he was far less than respectful to his charges.

Finally, after glancing around the room at unfathomable expressions, Cullen gathered the courage to break the tension in the still silent room. “What?” he asked no one in particular. He didn’t care who answered; he just wanted someone to explain why they were all acting so strange (A/N: Guessed it yet?). In his mind, the mages shouldn’t be happy about his victory over Samson, but his friends definitely should.

It wasn’t either of these factions that answered, though. “Sorcery!” cried Samson, “That was sorcery! Filthy, bloody sorcery!”

Cullen was strongly confused now. That wasn’t magic, surely. “No, it wasn’t,” he reasoned, “It’s a Templar talent, right Thrask?”

Thrask, however, hadn’t recovered from his pale complexion, the terrible coldness in his face was seeping into his gut, preventing him from speaking.

This coldness was now settling in Cullen’s gut, too, at his mentor’s silence. Instead, the First Enchanter responded, stepping beside Thrask and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder while he spoke to his friend’s protégé, “No, my boy,” he began softly, “What you called a ‘talent’ is a spell mages use. It’s called Mind Blast.”

Cullen balked at this. “What? No, you’re wrong. I don’t know what it’s called, admittedly, but it’s definitely not magic. Right, Ser Thrask?” Cullen implored his teacher to answer. When the Knight Captain hesitated, though, a queasy feeling took place in Cullen’s already uncomfortable stomach.

At last, Thrask answered, but it was not the response Cullen was praying for, “What you did was indeed magic. I don’t understand how I could’ve missed this, how this could’ve happened, but-”

“Just what are you saying, Ser?” Cullen asked, but truthfully, he was afraid of the answer.

Thrask merely stuttered at his question when Irving squeezed his shoulder before stepping towards the boy, regaining his smug stature. He gazed at Cullen with a pitying look and slowly said, “It seems, dear boy, that you are a _mage_.”

Cullen looked around one last time before a cold sweat broke out over his body. This couldn’t be real, could it? He begged the Maker Himself to say it isn’t so. With one last tearful look towards his mentor, the coldness seeping its way into Cullen’s gut took over.

He fainted.


	2. Tightening the Leash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse me if you see the name Jo or Karras. I’m typing this for the first time and am trying to catch it as I go. I only recently decided to use Marian (the default female name in DA2) in place of Jo and Samson in place of Karras. In the game, “Jo” Wyatt is FemHawke’s voice actress and Samson just seems to be a better rival than Karras, even though I’m using practically none of the original storyline (which I don’t own by the way). Also, it seems that I’m not really fond of any character in this chapter. They’re all quite bitchy, childish, and whiny. If it weren’t vital to the story, I’d leave it out. Trust me, though, next chapter’s much better.

The first thing Cullen noticed as he began to rouse from his slumber was humming. A delicate voice humming a song from his childhood, a girl. One of his sisters, maybe? His mother? He started to speak, straining against his cracked ribs, “Mia? Is that you?”

The voice abruptly stopped its humming and giggled in an even more musical tone. Cullen, who still hadn’t opened his eyes, felt the bed shift under him and realized the melodious creature was moving away from him. “Wait,” he pleaded urgently. “Please, don’t go,” his plea ended in a small voice, suddenly shy.

The creature giggled mischievously, and said, “Wow, the great _Ser_ Cullen begging _me_ to stay? Never thought I’d see the highest finally get chopped down to our level.” The voice ended with a mocking, but somehow gentle laugh.

Although Cullen liked this person’s voice, he quickly began to hate their sarcastic attitude. Growling, he tried to sit up, instantly regretting it when his ribs protested. The hand of the voice ignored his wince as he was roughly shoved back on the bed. He cried out in pain and opened his eyes wide, glaring at the owner of the hand. His glare, however, faltered at seeing the owner of the hand, Marian Hawke.

_(I’m really bad at) Flashback_

_Marian was an apostate that was discovered in the village of Lothering around the first time Cullen had visited the Circle tower for his Templar training. She was discovered alongside her sister and father, who were also mages. Cullen didn’t know the full story, but had heard the Marian’s entire family, including her non-mage brother and mother, had perished trying futilely to protect one another. Cullen didn’t know why Marian, alone, was spared. In his mind, she should have been, at least, made Tranquil, taking away her magic and blocking her connection to the Fade. At least, so she wouldn’t be a danger. Before he’d heard her story, all he knew about her was that she was a mage._

_And he’d never liked mages._

_She was 12 when she was brought to the Circle, while Cullen was 13 when he first left with Thrask to become a Templar. Cullen was just finishing up a swordsmanship lesson and was walking through the entrance hall to the canteen for something to eat when he saw her: a young girl with hair as black as a raven’s feather tied in a braid over her shoulder. She was struggling against the Templar holding her, tears streaming down her pale face. Cullen watched Marian with mild amusement mixed with disdain. He’d yet to see her eyes, though, which were clenched shut. Suddenly, the girl gave a particularly loud shriek and kicked her captor in the shin. The Templar was obviously focused on blocking the girl’s magic and clumsily let go. The girl, finding herself free, began looking around the large area for someone to help her. Her eyes landed on a boy around her age with short and curly blond hair. Desperately, she ran towards him, throwing her tiny arms around his neck. Marian began pleading into his chest, begging him to help her. Amidst her pleas, she caught the words coming from his mouth._

_She froze, her eyes wide with disbelief and fright. Surely, this boy couldn’t be as mean and cold-hearted as he sounded. She let go, clutching her arms to her chest as if they’d been burned. A look of pure hurt and raw pain appeared on her innocent face. Her eyes clouded over with fresh tears. She had just started to shout at the heartless boy when a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Fearing it was the Templar she kicked, she quickly looked up only to find a pair of kind eyes full of sympathy. He was dressed in robes that shimmered in the sunlight pouring in from the high windows. He was a mage. The bearded mage gestured for the boy to leave, and he did once he saw more Templars were arriving. The young mage girl stared at the boy’s back and stuck out her tongue at his retreating form. The elderly mage laughed at her and shooed the Templars away. The girl marveled at the mage’s authority. He then led her away from the crowd of forming Templars. Not away from the tower, as she had hoped, but further in where her new sheltered life of confinement awaited._

_End Flashback_

Smirk faltering at the memory Cullen’s glaring face conjured, Marian grimaced and said, “Lie still. First Enchanter Irving wants you healed before you speak with him.” She placed one hand on his chest and another on his cheek. Cullen saw a faint glow and began to panic. This witch was going to burn him alive! He started struggling against Marian’s firm hold which she patiently tolerated. He was too weak and injured to move, anyway; it was easy to hold him relatively still while she worked.

Softly, she began humming again as her magic began mending his cracked ribs and healing his black eye. Cullen’s face formed a dazed look as his pains were soothed. When she finished her song, Marian lifted her hands from Cullen, whose face was free from bruising, evidence of the damage done to him completely erased.

Reaching for the looking glass on the bedside table, Cullen marveled at the blemish-free skin staring back at him. Hardly believing it, he raised his hand to his face. “How did you do that? My face looks even better than before,” Cullen said, not seeming to realize how narcissistic he sounded.

Marian snorted at his arrogance and answered, “Well, of course, my healing abilities have always been known to heal even the most vile of injuries,” she paused, smirking, “and appearances.”

“Your hair’s shorter,” he said, ignoring, or perhaps not fully understanding, her remarks.

The girl before him looked shocked at the mention of something so trivial. Indeed, her hair was shorter, at least, from the first time they’d met. A few years after Marian had arrived at the Circle, she felt her hair was getting in the way during some of the harder concentration spells she’d been practicing in her spare time. So she’d taken a blade from an unsuspecting Templar who’d been too busy flirting with her to notice she’d lightened his load. Later that same night, she chopped off her braid and continued until she had the appearance of a pixie (A/N: pixie-cut, basically).

Strange that Cullen chose to say something about it now, years after the fact, even though he’d only been a Templar-in-training at the time. Surely, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss a chance at getting a mage in trouble for having a physical weapon, on top of stealing it, that is. Surprisingly, no one had even remarked on it at the time, and since then, her hair had grown. Only a few inches, though, she realized. Actually, she had only just recently been able to tie a short portion of her hair in a braid to frame her face. Just one section she braided while the rest of her still short hair hung loose. Sighing, she took the mirror gently from Cullen’s loose grip. Marian briefly looked at her own reflection with an expression Cullen couldn’t determine and set it down on the small table beside them.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asked, suddenly feeling sorry, though not knowing why.

Instead, the mage before him just shook her head and stood, saying, “Don’t worry about it. Now come on, get up. You shouldn’t be keeping the First Enchanter waiting. You’ll find clothes just beyond the partition screen there. She pointed at the folding screen, his gaze followed.

Cullen sat up, shifting the blanket with him, covering his lower body as his feet touched the ground. Blushing slightly, he glanced at the woman standing next to him and quickly shifted his gaze to the floor. “Um,” he began nervously, “D’you think you can look away for a moment?” He paused and decided to add, “Please?”

She chuckled, facing him fully with her arms crossed over her ample chest. “Come now, Cullen. It’s not as if I’ve never seen you in your smallclothes before,” she chastised.

Cullen blushed deeper and said, “That may be true, but that wasn’t my choice.” She was clearly referring to the incident when Samson and his gang had stolen his uniform. Cullen had chased them straight into the dining hall in nothing but his skivvies. Cullen had stopped dead in his tracks when he realized there were over 100 mages and over 50 Templars staring at him. His cheeks were tinged an unhealthy shade of red as a result of the embarrassing memory. Looking up at the woman before him resentfully, he sighed deeply and relented. Hastily, he rose from the bed and ducked behind the screen. Expecting his Templar armor, he stuttered indignantly at what he found folded innocently on the bench.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted, “Where the hell is my armor?” Suddenly uncaring of his state of undress, Cullen grabbed the offending article of clothing and marched from behind the screen. He held up the robes and glared at Marian.

“Would you calm down? It’s only natural for a mage to wear something lightweight,” she said as if speaking to a child.

“But I’m not a-” he stuttered nervously, the memory of last night suddenly returning to him.

“ _Mage_. It’s not a bad word, you know. Much as the Templars make it out to be…” she added as an afterthought. Then after a moment, she chuckled. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to put it on,” she mocked with a haughty smile.

“Of course I know how to put it on!” Cullen shouted.

“Then get dressed. We don’t have time for me to keep pointing out the obvious to your inane questions,” she responded calmly.

“So, it’s true, then?” Cullen asked hopelessly, causing Marian to look at him with concern, “I’m actually a-” he choked on the word, “Mage?”

Marian looked at him with pity and sympathy apparent in her eyes. “While you are a surprisingly weak one, you are, indeed, a mage,” she said softly.

Cullen began sobbing softly, bringing up the robe to hide his face. “I’m a monster…” he muttered.

At this, Hawke became angry. She stepped closer to him grasping his hands firmly and pulling them away from his face. “No. You’re. NOT!” she yelled resolutely. Cullen looked at her with a confused expression. “The lies the Chantry spreads are wrong! Magic isn’t evil and it doesn’t make you a monster,” she spat the word.

Cullen stared blankly, curious as to why she was so passionate about this. Seeing his stare, Hawke suddenly grew embarrassed, dropping the hands she still held in her grip. Cullen instantly missed the warmth of her hands on his. He was also curious of the fluttering he felt in his belly, but it was welcome over the cold that had been there previously.

“Just… get dressed, alright?” she said softly after a moment of silence. She continued, “Irving will be able to explain better. Since your situation is unique, to say the least, there are certain accommodations being made.”

Cullen nodded. He quickly changed into the lightweight blue robe. He and Marian stepped out of the small infirmary and into the deserted hallway. Cullen was immediately aware of his predicament. He couldn’t believe it; he was a mage who had actually been a Templar. It still seemed so surreal. Highly embarrassed, he continually glanced around, desperately hoping they wouldn’t run into any of his former comrades.

They made it to the top floor, somehow avoiding contact with any Templars. Cullen sighed, relieved when Irving’s office came into view. However, his relief was short-lived when he saw Samson and his faithful gang approaching from the opposite direction, obviously coming from the Knight Commander’s office. Cullen ducked behind Hawke, hoping to remain unseen. Alas, Marian was petite and Cullen was significantly bigger than her.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered softly. “Don’t show them your fear,” she warned.

Cullen was about to correct her and deny he was afraid when the two groups met in front of Irving’s closed door. Samson sneered at Cullen who’d stepped from his hiding place behind Hawke. “Well, well,” Samson began ominously, “So good to see you where you belong, mage filth.” He shrugged and continued, “I could hardly believe it myself that you’d managed to hide your true nature. But now, it only makes sense. You always were a weakling and _undeserving_ to call yourself a servant of the Maker.”

Cullen remained stone-faced, refusing to rise to the bait.

Samson went on, trying to get a rise from the newly discovered mage, “But, of course, how could anyone realize your secret when there’s hardly any talent in you?”

Cullen had reached his boiling point and started to retaliate only to be stopped by Marian’s loud, “You’re wrong.”

Cullen looked at her, surprised that she’d ever stand up for him, since she, too, admitted he was weak. But she continued, “I’m surprised at you, Samson. You of all people should know how truly powerful Cullen is. I mean, it was just last night when he knocked you flat on your arse. Or is that where you keep your brain? Suffering a bit of memory loss, are we, _Ser_ Samson?”she ended with a smirk.

Cullen smirked as well at his rival, but faltered when Samson merely scoffed and stepped closer to Hawke. Cullen frowned when Samson took her chin in his hand, saying, “Is this beautiful mouth talking back to me? Nah, can’t be, seeing as I had this beautiful mouth less than a fortnight ago.”

“And you’ll never have it again if you insult my friend further,” she responded coolly.

Cullen was utterly lost; just what is the nature of their relationship. And why did this conversation between them make him so furious?

Before Cullen could awkwardly ask either of them to clarify, Irving chose this moment to step out of his office. Samson released Hawke the second he spotted the First Enchanter, making him smile.

Chuckling lightly, Irving said, “Hawke, what have I said about teasing the Templars?”

“Sorry, First Enchanter,” she lowered her eyes obediently.

“And Ser Samson, I must ask you not to abuse your power over your charges,” he chastised. In response, Samson just scoffed and stepped around the mages, shoving Cullen with his shoulder as he and his gang passed.

Turning to his fellow mages, Irving ushered them into his office, “Please come in, you two.” Cullen saw Thrask already seated, seeming to be in deep thought, in an armchair in the far corner of the large office. Several other pieces of cheap, albeit comfortable, mismatched furniture were scattered around him, creating a relatively comfortable atmosphere. Thrask looked up from his lap when Irving shut the door behind the two young mages. Irving led them to the corner and sat in the armchair next to Thrask, asking the teenagers to sit across from them as he did so.

Hawke led the way sitting on the right side of the plush loveseat. Before sitting down as well, Cullen stole a glance at his mentor. Thrask had yet to even look at him. _Look at me please_ , Cullen begged silently. He wanted something to be normal- to remain as it was- but Thrask, the person Cullen trusted most, refused to even look at him. The one Cullen had always turned to when he needed comfort was _rejecting_ him.

At this realization, Cullen hung his head miserably, causing Hawke to look his way, eyes full of pity. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder which he shrugged off. He didn’t want her to comfort him, he wanted Thrask. Hawke scowled at his childish behavior, instead crossing her arms and neatly folding her legs.

Irving was the first to break the uncomfortable silence, “Thank you, my dear girl, for bringing Cullen here.” Hawke nodded in recognition. Then the First Enchanter turned to face the mage in front of him. Cullen, still stubbornly refusing to raise his head, heard the elder mage address him, “Cullen, I can’t imagine how difficult this discovery must be for you. Suddenly being told you’re different than what you’ve always believed you were must be very hard to even fathom.” Somehow, Cullen didn’t feel Irving was as sympathetic to his situation as he sounded. Irving continued, “The Knight Captain here offered to be here in place of the Knight Commander considering how close you two were.” _Were?_ Cullen thought bitterly. He noticed how the red-haired man had still refused to talk. “Thrask offered to move your belongings to your new quarters after they’ve been inspected for contraband,” he seemed rather smug as he said this, Cullen thought. _Wait, what?_

“I’m sorry, sir, but what do you mean?” he asked awkwardly, finally raising his head.

But it was Hawke who answered. “You didn’t really think you’d be able to stay in the cozy Templar barracks, did you?” she asked condescendingly. Cullen glared at her, but she didn’t relent. “And all those dirty books will likely be confiscated. No more _Swords and Shields_ for you. Just religious propaganda from now on,” she end with a smirk.

“The first _Swords and Shields_ is a recent release. How do you know of it? Have you been sneaking in contraband?” he responded, clearly trying to get her in trouble.

Instead, she waved a hand dismissively, saying, “Actually, one of your former comrades read a portion to me as he watched me pleasure myself.”

Cullen blushed and sputtered, obviously not expecting her response. Indignantly, though not fully understanding why he was so angry, he shot back, “Oh? Would it happen to be my ‘ _dear friend_ ’ Samson? Or are you whoring yourself out to others as well? Trying to get special treatment, obviously.”

Before Hawke could respond with an insult of her own, Irving raised his hands in the air, trying to calm the two teenagers, “Now, now, you two. There’ll be plenty of time for a shouting match later.”

“Yeah, seeing as we never get to leave,” Hawke muttered.

“Speaking of that, we still need to create your phylactery, boy,” Irving said gravely.

Cullen had been wondering when someone would mention that.

“His leash, you mean,” Hawke said bluntly.

Yes, his _leash_. The one thing that would lead the Templars to him should he ever have the gall or stupidity to run.

“Yes, well, we’ll get to that later,” said Irving. “For now, we must discuss your living arrangements as well as your training,” Irving said simply.

Cullen, once again, was confused. “What do you mean ‘training’?” he queried.

“Well, your knowledge of magic is rather low, is it not? Instead of practicing your Maker-given abilities, you’ve been going against your very nature,” Irving explained, “Remember your Mind Blast spell the other night? It was incredibly weak for a mage at your age. While there was plenty of residual magic, indicating much potential, the blast itself was rather unimpressive, only able to stagger those nearest you. Hawke, here, could’ve toppled every person in the room. She’s rather impressive, especially at such a young age,” Irving commended making her smile softly. Cullen wished he could get her to make that sort of smile at him, but so far, all her smiles towards him were either mocking or full of pity (pitiful?).

“Which brings me to why she’s present at this meeting,” Irving said finally. Both Cullen and Hawke perked up, obviously wondering why themselves. “Marian is an excellent mage, passing her Harrowing at a mere 15 years of age. Since you’re considerably older than other mages at your level, Cullen, Ser Thrask asked me to find a private teacher to spare you any humiliation. Normally, I would reject giving you such special treatment, but Thrask is a dear friend of mine. So as a favor to him, I’ve decided to choose my own pupil as your tutor,” he finished.

Cullen was at a loss for words. However, Hawke was desperate to have a say in this, “First Enchanter, please!” she yelled miserably, making Cullen turn to her, shocked at this reaction. She continued, refusing to look at the mage next to her, “You can’t possibly mean to burden me with this, can you? You know how he is, what he’s like. How can you expect me to finish my own work with him at my heels?!”

“I think it would be good for you to practice _restraint_ , dear girl,” Irving responded simply, unbothered by her outburst.

Hawke slumped back, crossing her arms again, defeated. What _were_ they talking about? Was Hawke up to something illegal? Cullen himself wasn’t too happy about the arrangement either, but was secretly excited at the prospect of seeing Marian more.

“Cullen,” Irving said, once again capturing his attention, “You’ll be rooming with the rest of the apprentices until you’re called for your Harrowing. Should you need her, Hawke will be on the level above in the mages’ quarters,” Irving gave a pointed look to Marian, “Now, let’s get to the creation of your phylactery, shall we?” Irving rose from his chair to retrieve a vial from his desk.

He explained to Cullen that the glass had been enchanted to prevent damage and once his blood was gathered, it, too, would be enchanted to prevent clotting. Then a small spell said while he was present would make the blood respond when Cullen was near.

Marian hated this. This ritual is what made it impossible to escape. It was the only legal form of blood magic outside Tevinter and it was used against them. Their traitorous blood giving them away whenever they were within a Templar’s reach. Irving had her slice Cullen’s palm while the First Enchanter held the vial to gather the blood underneath. Once the vial was filled, Marian took Cullen’s mutilated hand and held it close as if apologizing for the injury she inflicted and for participating in forming the cage around him. She softly mumbled a spell under her breath and traced the cut with her finger, closing the wound. She vaguely registered Irving reciting the spell to bind Cullen to this prison.

The pair was dismissed and Hawke had refused to say a word. Once in the hall again, Cullen turned to her, a question apparent in his hazel eyes. Instead, she turned from him, although he followed closely. She hated the hand she’d played in imprisoning this all-too-innocent, unaware mage. Irving had her participate in a few phylactery making rituals before, saying it was practice for when she was made First Enchanter. She always felt sick after these rituals, feeling immensely guilty for binding young, innocent mages to this confining prison. Only recently had she learned how to make the confinement bearable and the one who helped her had disappeared again. Of course, because of his leash, he’d soon be dragged back. She only hoped the Templar pigs didn’t decide to make him Tranquil. Although, she would remember her promise to him if that happened. She understood his wanting to escape, but if being made Tranquil was the price, she couldn’t see how it could be worth it.

They were just passing the entrance on the first floor when the doors barring her from the outside world burst open. She looked on, still in a state of melancholy, wondering what fresh wretch was being brought to their fate. She gasped loudly, causing Cullen to stop and look at her strangely, but she didn’t care. _He_ was back! And apparently the Templars escorting him hadn’t even bothered with shackles this time. The Templars holding her salvation shoved him roughly, closing the door to his escape. He grumbled and brushed himself off. Cullen tried grabbing her arm to lead her away, but she refused to be away from _him_ a moment more.

Cullen watched wordlessly as Hawke pulled herself from his grip, practically launching herself at the obvious troublemaker. Cullen looked on, astonished by her bizarre behavior. Feeling angry and abandoned, he walked towards the pair talking animatedly.

“Anders! I missed you terribly. Where’d you go this time? Did you get to keep any souvenirs?”

“Hawke, lovely to see you as always. I swear, seeing your face almost makes my return worth it. I’d love to say I made it as far as exotic Rivain, but then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“As if you’d ever survive in Rivain. It’s far too tropical and humid for your delicate persona.”

“I’m offended! If anyone here is delicate, it would be you, my dear.”

Just then, the lovey-dovey pair heard someone clearing their throat rather loudly. Marian grimaced at Cullen, the intruder. Hawke groaned, exasperated, and made a shooing motion with her right hand, her left still clutching Anders’ feathered pauldron. “Run along now,” she said dismissively, “You know the layout of the tower. Find the apprentice quarters yourself.”

Cullen bristled indignantly. Who was this interloper and why was Hawke draped all over him? This “Anders” didn’t look remotely familiar to him. Trying to separate Marian from Anders, and attempting to get Hawke to focus on himself, he said, “The First Enchanter asked you to train me personally. I’d like to get started right away.”

Hawke looked at him like he was a great burden she desperately didn’t want to bear which angered Cullen further.

The interloper chose this moment to speak, “I’m very sorry, but you’re interfering. I don’t recognize you, so I’m assuming you’re new. Although I would love to discuss with you later how you’d managed to evade the Templars this long, I must say your interruption is highly inappropriate. Please leave.”

He thought _Cullen_ was the one interfering? How dare this man? The audacity!

Suddenly realizing something, Anders turned to Hawke with questions, “Wait. Did he say the old man asked you to train him? How far behind could he be? Explain to me, love. Just who is this man?”

Cullen felt like he’d been backhanded at the word “love”, He thought- he didn’t know what he thought.

Marian, realizing she had the attention of both men upon her, spoke carefully, “Don’t worry, Anders. It’s just Cullen. You remember him, don’t you? Don’t give me that look; he’s on our side now.” Anders looked doubtful at that statement. Then it dawned on him.

“Oh! _That_ Cullen. Bloody ponce caught me with _Swords and Shields_. Took it to read for yourself, did you? Hope you learned something from it,” Anders words ended in a sneer.

Cullen blushed an impressive shade of red, feeling both angry and humiliated.

“So how’d you hide your magic this long? I must say it was clever to hide right under the Templars’ noses, but your capture was inevitable,” Anders chided.

Hawke pulled Anders closer to her, furthering Cullen’s unexplained frustration, and spoke to the older blond in a quiet voice, “Anders, we don’t think Cullen was even aware of what he is. He revealed his magic quite openly in front of other Templars.”

“Didn’t know?” Anders said incredulously, “Impossible! I’ve known what I am for as long as I can remember! How could he honestly not know?”

Hawke tried to explain for Cullen as best she could, her eyes downcast, “It is possible, love. You can deny it so much, your very nature is hidden from you. And with the filth the Chantry spreads, why would anyone who grew up with it want to believe they’re scorned by the Maker just for being who they really are?”

Anders ‘hmm’ed sympathetically, taking Hawke’s dainty hands that were grasping his chest into his own, holding them tight, trying to erase the sad look on his love’s face. “Well, I can see how a prick like this could be so clueless,” he reasoned, severely disliking the look in Cullen’s eyes. The way he looked at Hawke, it worried him.

Grasping one of Hawke’s wrists, Cullen tried to pull her out of the arms of the troublemaking blond. The raven didn’t need this kind of bad influence around her; she could get in serious trouble even though she’d already passed her Harrowing.

“What do you think you’re doing? Go away!” she shouted, flinging Cullen’s hand away.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Cullen gritted out, “We’re supposed to train…”

“Are you still on about that?” she asked in disbelief, “We’ll get started tomorrow, now get lost! It’s been months since I’ve seen Anders. I want to spend the rest of the day with _him_.”

Anders smirked at his victory over the boy. Cullen looked at the smug mage, then at Marian, eyes showing defeat. So he turned from the couple and stomped his way to the dining hall, realizing just how late it was. Unable to admit he was wrong aloud, he silently relented that it was probably best to start his training tomorrow. It seemed he’d slept longer than he’d thought.

Cullen lost his appetite somewhere along the way to the canteen and instead decided to retire early. He found the apprentice quarters easily and located a bunk that seemed free. Undressing next to it, he slipped under the thin covers and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the memory of the sound of Marian’s voice singing the song of his childhood.


	3. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I wasn’t very happy with the previous chapter. I didn’t like practically anyone in it. Remember, though, they are relatively younger than they are in the games and apparently their frontal lobes haven’t fully developed yet. I’m trying to actually make them have deep conversations over the philosophy of the DA-verse. This chapter, however, I was really happy with when I first got it down on paper. Sorry for the gibberish! Story time!

“Wake up,” a voice called to Cullen distantly in his sleep. He groaned and rolled to his right side. “Wake up, I said,” the voice persisted gently, prodding Cullen’s cheek with a clothed foot.

Groaning once more, Cullen reluctantly opened his eyes to look upon the faerie-like creature before him. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

“Oh, no you don’t” the faerie argued, gripping his shoulder and shaking him, “Get up!” she demanded.

Grumbling unintelligibly, Cullen opened his eyes again, squinting in the light. “Huh?” he mumbled stupidly (A/N: I swear, I don’t actually hate Cullen!). Hawke stood in front of him, looking irritated.

“Come on, you lazy bum. You’ve already slept through breakfast. I thought something happened. I can’t believe I worried for your lazy arse,” she muttered.

At this, Cullen brightened. “You were worried about me?” he asked hopefully, sitting up and smirking haughtily.

“For no reason, apparently,” Hawke admitted, not looking Cullen in the eye.

Smirk growing at her admission, Cullen stood up, precariously close to Hawke. He grasped her upper arm to prevent her escape. Hawke glanced up at him, a question in her azure eyes. “Did you think I’d been hurt?” he whispered.

A new voice appeared from the entrance to the chamber, “Actually, we thought you’d fallen in the chamber pot.” Anders straightened himself from where he’d been leaning in the doorway and walked towards the pair, eyes narrowing on Cullen’s hand that still held Hawke’s arm. “Release her,” he said simply.

Instead, Cullen’s grip tightened, making Marian wince. She let out a small, nearly imperceptible, cry at the pain, forcing Cullen’s attention back to her. Seeing her pained expression, Cullen reluctantly let go. He never wanted to see her make that pitiful expression because of him ever again.

Trying to break the tension he felt, and perhaps created, he started talking, “Did you say I missed breakfast?” He only addressed Hawke, choosing to ignore Anders. However, Hawke seemed to be avoiding his eyes.

Still, she nodded, looking at the floor, saying, “Yes, but we brought you some food in case you were hungry.” She held up a small parcel. Cullen gladly took it from her and sat back down with it on his lap. He unfolded the cloth, disappointed to find only a small loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese.

Looking back up at Hawke, he tried to not sound as disappointed as he felt, “Were there no more links of sausage?”

Laughing bitterly, Hawke replied, “You think mages here are so well fed? You were lucky to get protein in the form of that cheese after the Templars were done with the lot.”

Cullen tried to reason with her, “Well they do have to get up earlier than you do.”

“I think you’re confused. We’re not even _allowed_ into the dining hall until the Templars are finished gorging themselves,” Anders said condescendingly.

Once being a Templar himself less than two days ago, Cullen took offense, “Well, they have to keep themselves well-nourished to keep up with troublemaking mages like yourself.”

“You seem to be having trouble grasping this concept – you’re a mage, too, ya friggin’ prick!” Anders shouted, as if yelling would drive the fact into Cullen’s skull.

Marian had had quite enough from both of them, rubbing her temples in circular motions to stamp down the threatening headache. She knew things must be really bad for her to be the voice of reason. It wasn’t as if she didn’t agree with Anders, She just thought he should be a bit more sympathetic to Cullen since he had previously been one of those self-important pricks. Cullen may still be a prick and he just might still be as self-important as he was two days ago, but she felt he should be given the benefit of the doubt. Even if just to prove that not all mages are as bad as he originally thought. Hawke tried blocking out the noise from the two boys, seeing as her head started feeling worse from the circular arguments. Too bad she had never been good at ignoring annoying sounds. Growling at both of the childish blonds, she yelled, “Gah! Can you two please stop gibbering! Anders, yes, it’s horrible for the Templars to bar us from getting proper nourishment! Shut up, Cullen, I haven’t even gotten to you yet! But, Anders, can’t you understand what it might feel like for someone to insult your former friends? Yes, Cullen, former. Like it or not, you’re playing on opposing teams now. Don’t act smart, Anders. It’s not polite to make fun of someone else’s misery.” She breathed deeply at the end of her speech and lowered her head while pinching the bridge of her nose, saying rather calmly, “Cullen, I know this will take time for you to adjust, but try to see things from our point of view. We’ve lived this way longer than you’ve even been a Templar. Anders has been here the longest and he sees things differently than we might because all that time in this prison can color your perspective. Now, please, eat what you’ve been provided.”

Cullen grumbled in recognition, deciding not to complain further. Although still unhappy, he refused to seem ungrateful and started eating. Hawke, sighing deeply, sat next to him as he chewed. Anders made himself comfortable leaning on the bunk bed’s ladder on her opposite side, looking thoroughly chastised. Cullen still glowered at him from behind his meal.

Marian made his day worse by announcing, “I’ve asked Anders here to assist with your training today. So finish your meal quickly and we can get started.” Cullen actually hoped for the meager meal to go on forever if it would keep him from spending time with the older blond.

“Can’t we train without him?” he asked indignantly.

Anders ‘hmph’ed, but Hawke answered, “We might be able to, but what we’re going to practice today is actually more difficult if you don’t have a partner who knows what they’re doing. Not to mention we’d get a lot less done if I’m trying to explain something as well as demonstrate it.”

“And besides,” Anders added, “I’d rather not leave my innocent maiden in the hands of a wolf.”

Hawke chuckled dryly. “You and I well know I’m far from a maiden,” Marian said. Cullen nearly choked on his cheese.

“Perhaps, but you are still, indeed, innocent,” Anders purred in her ear, “And I’d hate for your beautiful mind to be tainted by such a wolf.”

Cullen, still sputtering, spat out, “You’re more wolf-like than I am. And relationships within the Circle are _forbidden_!”

Anders scoffed at this and argued, “Weren’t you also trying to initiate a relationship when you put your filthy paws on my poor Hawke here?” Cullen swallowed heavily, feeling guilty.

Hawke suddenly stood up, now battling a full migraine, and faced the two. “Oh, would you two stop?!” She growled out. She turned to Cullen, however, and gritted out, “You’d do well to learn things aren’t always what they seem. And rules aren’t the most important thing in this cage. You were new to your Templar role and now you’re new to your confinement. If you’d lasted a few more years as a Templar, you’d have learned that things work differently inside the Circle than they do in theories.”

Cullen sat, stunned by her outrage. He lowered his head, glowering at his unfinished meal, feeling very much like a berated child. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel all that hungry. From the corner of his eye, he saw Anders step up next to Hawke and put a hand on her shoulder, comforting her. No longer feeling like eating, Cullen tossed the rest of the food aside. Cullen was vaguely aware of Marian gently asking if he was finished, to which he nodded numbly. He looked up again when she grabbed the remainder of the bread and cheese, tossing the bread into her mouth and handing the cheese to Anders who quickly devoured it.

Seeing his perplexed expression, Hawke explained, “If the Templars find out you didn’t eat all you were given, they’ll lower your rations. It’s bad enough you skipped out on dinner last night.”

Cullen nodded in understanding. He’d seen Samson and several other Templars withhold food just because they were irritated with a specific mage and knew he’d be treated no different, especially not by Samson. The woman urged Cullen to get dressed and follow her as she and Anders led the way out of the chamber. Cullen noted with disdain that the pair walking in front were discreetly gripping each other’s pinkies, completely hidden from view except for those closest to them. As they made their way to the library, several people, mages, greeted the pair warmly. Upon seeing him, they shyly, or perhaps cautiously, nodded in Cullen’s direction, too.

Not soon enough, they arrived in an isolated corner of the library surrounded by tall bookcases on three sides. Hawke unhooked her finger from Anders’, to Cullen’s unending delight, and turned to the younger blond, saying, “I’ve decided we should start with what’s normally easiest for most, as well as the first piece of magic most people learn. Summoning fire. Usually, young mages who’ve previously shown no magical properties first learn what they are by accidentally setting something aflame. Being young and inexperienced, the fires are usually small and easily covered up. Although, I’m assuming you’ve never conjured fire before, have you?” Cullen shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Here, drink this,” she handed him a blue vial, saying, “It’s been a while since you’ve had an outside source of lyrium, right? To me, it seems even as a mage who generates their own lyrium in the form of mana, you’re low on lyrium in your blood. I’m unsure if that’s a side-effect of not using your magic until now, or if you’re naturally weaker.” She looked at him pityingly. Cullen wished he could argue, but couldn’t deny his own weakness. Looking at the vial in his hand, he uncorked it and downed it in one go. He also couldn’t deny the burst of energy lyrium gave him, as well as the feeling of returning home which, he noted solemnly, he’d probably never be able to do again.

Hawke took the empty vial and set it on a nearby table. She addressed Anders who was standing not far away, “Anders? Go stand at the end there,” directing him to the bookcase on the far wall. “Good,” she said, “Now put up a barrier, I’m going to throw a fireball at you.” Once Anders was glowing a faint blue, Hawke’s hands burst into flame, startling Cullen, causing him to fall backwards, but catching himself before he fell to the floor. Marian ignored him and punched forward, tossing the ball of fire from her hands to Anders.

Cullen marveled at the small explosion when the fire came in contact with the barrier. In the aftermath, Anders merely dusted himself off, looking like he encountered small explosions every day. Being a mage, Cullen thought, he probably did. Cullen was still lost in thought when Hawke invited him to try. Nervous, Cullen moved across from Anders who was glowing blue again. Cullen looked at his hands, trying to conjure fire to him.

Anders’ impatient voice rung out from across the way, “Can you hurry it up? This barrier won’t last forever, you know!”

Cullen growled and glared at the older mage, but it was Hawke who saved him, “Oh, stuff it, Anders. Cullen’s new to this. Just be prepared to cast another barrier.” Then she turned to Cullen, face softening. “Ignore him, alright? I’ll help this time,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Focus on heat,” she prodded. He was aware of the heat radiating from her body in close proximity to his. He was very aware of the warmth of her hand on his own. Was it still warm from the fire that had previously consumed it? Or was this heat normal for her? She brushed a stray hair from his face with her free hand and he felt his face become hot. “Heat...” she repeated softly.

Suddenly, flames burst from his hand still covered by hers. She pulled her hand from his, hiding it, and breathed, “Good… now throw it at Anders.”

Cullen reared back his flaming hand and punched it forward, successfully hitting Anders’ newly made barrier. Cullen shouted in victory. Anders, however, didn’t seem fazed. Cullen noticed he was still glowing a faint blue. As he walked towards them, he said, “Don’t get so excited. Your fireball wasn’t even enough to break my barrier.”

Cullen huffed, he thought it was impressive, his hand was still tingling. Wondering why Hawke was being silent at his success, he turned to her, “Well? What did you think?”

“It was great, really,” her voice sounded strangled and sweat had broken out on her forehead.

Cullen, feeling concerned, reached out his hand for her arm. “Are you alr-” he started, but was interrupted by Marian’s cry of pain as she folded in on herself, holding her hand clenched to her chest.

“Love? What’s wrong?” Anders exclaimed, shoving Cullen away and crouching before Hawke. “What-? Aw, shit. You bloody idiot...” Cullen still didn’t know what was going on. Why was Hawke in pain? She’d been fine a moment ago. And why was Anders insulting her? Although Cullen noticed the endearing way in which he said it. Anders then lifted Hawke off her feet, holding her close to his chest.

“What are you doing? What’s the matter with her? Why-?” Cullen stopped short, finally seeing the problem when Anders rushed past him, Hawke still held tightly to his chest. _Her hand_ , Cullen thought miserably. He’d burnt it.

Anders ignored him, stepping carefully over to a couch they’d pushed next to a bookcase. He sat down with Hawke on his lap, trying to get her to uncurl. Cullen, stupidly, started panicking. Anders desperately wanted to smack him upside the head, but he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with the idiot. He had to tend to Hawke. “Shut up!” he spoke sharply, instantly quieting Cullen’s ramblings.

Hawke, the little angel, was bravely holding in her whimpers. Anders shushed her softly, pressing his lips into her hair. He gently encouraged her to let him see the damage. She was breathing raggedly as she lifted her hand from her chest. Cullen inhaled sharply, which Anders ignored. Instead, he laced his fingers with Hawke’s, feeling sorry as she cried out in pain. He shushed her again, mumbling sweet nothings in her ear. He focused on mending the burnt skin, restoring it to its usual softness. As he healed her hand, he started humming a song his mother sang to him as a child, smiling and nuzzling her hair as she joined in weakly. Gently, he turned her face towards him with his free hand and kissed her deeply, trying to distract her. He carefully began laying her back onto the couch, not breaking the kiss or his hold on her hand.

Cullen stood there, staring, feeling extremely left out. Hawke finally opened her eyes, still red and swollen from withheld tears. Seemingly just remembering he was there, Marian broke her mouth free from Anders’, who started trailing kisses down her neck. “Anders?” she said, weakly trying to shove him away. Giggling and letting a smile color her voice, she said, “Anders, stop. That’s enough. I’m all better now.”

Anders ‘hmm’ed disagreeing, “Hm? No, I don’t think you are. Yes, I can tell you’re still in a lot of pain. Just relax and let me make it all better.” He finished his words between kisses, now moving to suck on one of her sensitive spots below her ear. He smiled against her skin when she cried out in surprise. Oh, no, he was not afraid to use his secret weapon _at all_.

A loud, familiar, _annoying_ voice cleared his throat, instantly making Anders grimace. He turned to the unwelcome noisemaker and said, “What, are you still here? You’ve done enough today, haven’t you? Lesson’s over. Come back tomorrow. Now, shoo!” he made a quick shooing motion with his hand and tried again to attack the lovely neck laid out before him.

Key word: tried.

Hawke wiggled up, creating marvelous friction, and held her hands up in surrender, saying, “Really, Anders, I’m fine,” she stressed. He tried pulling her back down under him, but she cleverly wriggled the rest of the way out and stood up, fixing her robe back up her shoulder. Hmph, okay so focusing even one measly second on the interloper was a mistake. One he’ll not make next time he gets a chance like the one that was practically gift wrapped for him. Anders ‘hmph’ed aloud, holding himself up by his elbows, openly displaying his hatred for the stupid git named Cullen.

Turning to Marian, Anders continued conversing as if the younger blond wasn’t there, “What were you thinking? Trying to guide his clueless mind to fire while standing so close. That has to be the most careless thing I’ve ever witnessed you do.”

She shrugged and admitted, “It’s how my father taught me to control fire on my own. Although, I probably should have made a barrier before getting so close, that’s true.”

Cullen, having found his voice, said, “Hawke, I’m incredibly sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Marian turned to him with a gentle smile, “It’s alright, Cullen. Like Anders said, I was too careless. It’s as much my fault as it is yours.” “I never said it was _your_ fault!” “Do you think you’d be able to conjure fire on your own now though?” she finished, successfully ignoring Anders’ outburst.

Cullen himself was unsure, but instead said, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good!” she suddenly exclaimed, “Then let’s try again. Anders, you stand over there.”

However, both men present were nervous about trying this again. Cullen, because he wasn’t sure he could actually conjure fire on his own. Anders, because he didn’t want Marian injured again for Cullen’s lack of talent. Although both men were nervous, they obediently stepped into their designated positions and Hawke took her place slightly behind Cullen.

Marian told Anders to raise his barrier. Once again, he emitted a faint blue light. At Hawke’s direction, Cullen tried to conjure fire. He closed his eyes and remembered the heat of Hawke standing too close, the warmth of her hand on his. He opened his eyes to a crackling sensation, shocked to find his hands engulfed in flames. Hawke let out an encouraging yell. Then without hesitation, Cullen launched the fire at Anders. Although the barrier hadn’t burst as it had when Hawke challenged it, Cullen was extraordinarily proud of himself.

“Did you see that, Anders? Did you see it?” Hawke yelled animatedly. Cullen was happy with her reaction, pleased that she seemed proud of him.

Anders slowly walked towards them, thoroughly unimpressed. “Yes, I saw that poor excuse for a fireball. Look at me; my barrier’s still active,” he actually seemed to be complaining.

Marian, however, started to defend Cullen, “It was good for his first try by himself. Would you have preferred it explode in your face? If so, I’d be happy to present you with my own fireball.”

Anders held up his hands in mock defeat, “Please, no. One of your fireballs at full strength would incinerate me.”

“Damn right, it would,” she agreed, eyes crinkling up in a smile.

“So, what’s next?” Cullen asked eagerly.

“What do you mean ‘what’s next’?” Anders argued, “You probably shouldn’t move on from fireballs till you can knock down my barrier with one blow.”

Hawke tried to reason with the two, “Anders, your barriers are really strong. Even most senior mages here can’t break one down in one go.”

“True,” Anders bragged, “You’re only able to because you’ve found my weakness.”

“And what’s that?” she asked coyly.

She giggled as Anders pulled her to him, whispering in her ear, “You, you naughty little minx.”

Again, Cullen felt the need to clear his already clear throat, startling Marian and severely irritating Anders. “Ah, right! Cullen,” she realized as she pulled out of Anders’ grip. She started rummaging through her robe’s pockets in search of something. “Aha!” she declared, pulling out a scrap of paper. Turning and placing it in Cullen’s hand, she gave specific instructions, “Find that tome, read it, and practice the spells within. Don’t worry, they’re fairly simple, easy to practice alone,” she finished quickly and grabbed Anders by the arm who appeared to be catching on. At the entrance to the corner they created, she turned back to Cullen, calling, “And don’t come looking for me until you’ve mastered every spell in that book!”

She and Anders sped out of the room, not daring to look back. Frowning, Cullen looked at the piece of paper in his hand and read the title aloud, “Spirit: Calling upon the Fade.” He frowned further and asked the empty room, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”


End file.
